


Faith Hurts

by mogwai_do



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No matter what Sherlock had said, John had refused to back down, refused to believe what even Sherlock was telling him and that faith had hurt more than a mere three storey fall ever could. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith Hurts

It hurt; a biting ache that gripped him and just would not leave. He had a bag full of painkillers courtesy of Molly, but he hadn't taken a single one. It was supposed to hurt; he needed it to. His right arm was broken in two places and his wrist was sprained. He had three cracked ribs and more muscle strains than he could be bothered to enumerate. He’d even managed to bite his cheek and he could taste blood periodically as the wound reopened when he spoke. He shouldn't really be on his feet at all; John would have read him the riot act, if only he knew.

Every single injury hurt fiercely, but not one eclipsed the pain whose location he was, with all his genius, unable to diagnose. It was the greatest of ironies; if John had known what he was about, he would have tried to make it easier, would have tried to fake disgust, anger, betrayal. Instead, no matter what Sherlock had said, John had refused to back down, refused to believe what even Sherlock was telling him and that faith had hurt more than a mere three storey fall ever could. 

He'd known John was his friend, his best friend, but to be honest, there had never been a lot of competition for the job. He would never have expected or required this level of faith, of belief, but John had given it to him anyway - a double-edged gift that cut with the purest pleasure. 

He'd always known this would hurt John, but not until their last conversation had he really, truly, appreciated how much. As horrifyingly practical as it was, John could not have played his role better had he known, but Sherlock had still had to do it, to go forward knowing it was the only way to save his friend.

John knew about triage, knew about necessary evils; he'd been an army doctor so he knew that sometimes you had to make sacrifices for the greater good, however much you might not want to. Sherlock could only hope that he would understand this, because John also knew about loyalty and betrayal and the price of each. 

It was the biggest risk Sherlock had ever taken, not just because not even he could guarantee to survive a fall like that, but he hadn't risked it to prove he was clever this time – he’d risked it all to keep his closest friend safe and he would do it again - as often as he had to. 

There was something hideously apt about the fact that Sherlock had been able to turn Moriarty's scheme back on himself and he wasn't the least bit sorry the man had killed himself as a result, but in doing so he had successfully twisted Sherlock's own plans just enough that Sherlock was forced to do exactly as Moriarty had planned - he'd burned his own heart out, he'd had to. 

He could only hope that the portion of it John kept with him always would be safe. Mycroft owed him that much at the very least. Sherlock could survive alone without friends or funds or backup, but he couldn't survive the loss of John, he wouldn't want to. Oh he'd still live, because John would want that, but it wouldn't be much beyond that. But Mycroft would give him funds, information, transport, anything he asked right now - although for once it gave him no satisfaction to have that over his brother. He'd trade it all for the lack of the necessity of it.

Because Moriarty was dead, but this particular beast didn't die with its head cut off - greatly weakened yes, but still deadly and Sherlock needed to remove its teeth one by one, extract each claw, and render it harmless before he could see John again. Before he could return to his friend and offer up his explanation, his reasons, his deductions and his heart. It was his turn to have faith in his friend, that John would understand, and would forgive, even if not immediately. Without that distant promise, Sherlock knew he'd still continue to keep John safe, but Moriarty would have won indeed. There was something ironic in the way that the success or failure of each of their schemes depended wholly on the victim of both.

He'd leave for the continent tonight, following the first lead, the first strand of Moriarty's web, and from there he would unravel it all, piece by piece until not a bit remained. It started tonight and it would continue until the end, until every last thread had been unravelled, every pawn removed and every last scheme dismantled. He’d salt the earth too if he could. Sherlock had no illusions that it would be quick, but it would be thorough; he swore it on the pain in his body, the taste of blood in his mouth and, most of all, on the tears of his friend.

FIN


End file.
